Oscars Party

So, the 85th Academy Awards happened, and there was an Oscars Party.

Because why even bother writing about the 85th Academy Awards for six (now seven!) straight weeks if you don’t plan to have fun at the end. Right? But OMG — some of the parts were not very fun.

First off, the Oscars Party was held at my mother’s house. My very Republican, very obnoxious, very vocal mother. Yeah, that one. I don’t know if you’ve ever watched the Academy Awards before, but if not, let me clue you in:

At ALL Academy Awards, there are lots of political jokes, sexual innuendos, and celebrations of the arts. It’s pretty much a very liberal atmosphere.

Not everyone should come to — or host — an Oscars Party.

An Oscars Party is not for fuddy-duddy Christians (only the cool ones). It is not for conservatives. It is not for people who will tut-tut and sigh every time someone curses or says something deemed inappropriate. It is not for anyone who gets offended over “goddamn” or, heaven forbid, the appearance of our esteemed Democrat First Lady.

I’m not saying you’re an asshole if you are easily offended.

I *AM*, however, saying that maybe you should reconsider hosting a party if you can’t behave nicely. I am *ALSO* saying that, if you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut about something, then let’s agree OUT LOUD to never discuss it, and to henceforth avoid that motherfucker like the plague.

As the only Liberal on my side of the family, I have learned the hard way that I’m not allowed to speak on certain topics when surrounded by most of those relatives. So I don’t. I refrain from bringing up controversial topics — although sometimes I do slip up, because maybe something was in the news, and I forget that we can’t carry on a freaking civil conversation about ANYTHING that isn’t sports, TV, or food related. We can talk about cheese and olives all day, but topics of depth, such as gay rights, women’s rights, minority rights, guns, borders, abortions, Christianity — yeah, unless you want WWIII to blow up in the living room, you better steer well clear from this shit. No joke.

In retrospect, that really makes ME the asshole.

I went to my mother’s house knowing ahead of time how it was going to be. I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t feel I had an option, if I wanted to maintain somewhat decent family relations. They are rocky enough as it is without me skipping out on a family event. And honestly? I wasn’t going for my mom. Fuck her. Not like, in a mean way, or anything. Just… her opinions aren’t fully developed and are mimicry of whatever my dad has spoon fed her to believe. I can so totally overlook her nonsense because it’s just so much ignorant noise and not a bit of it is based in either fact or deep intellectual consideration. So ultimately, yeah, fuck her.

I attended the Oscars Party to be with my sister.

We have had some rough patches over the last several months… or to hear her tell it, maybe the last few years… or maybe even our whole lives. Regardless of the time period, she hasn’t been thrilled with me, a lot because of my blogging and my newfound confidence and my hollering about shit via social media outlets. Some stuff, she may have a valid point; others, not so much. Whatever. That shit’ll work itself out or not as time moves on. All I know is, when she stopped talking to me right before Christmas, I realized I’d better make alternate plans for an Oscars Party.

My husband and I decided we would attend the Oscars Party hosted by the Neon.

The Neon is this nifty-awesome-cool local arts theater which supports independent films and the manager, Jonathan McNeal, is simply a marvel as he flits across the country viewing films at various film festivals. I’d always wanted to attend the Neon’s Oscars Party, since it strikes me as the perfect venue at which to enjoy this sort of ceremony, but I have skipped out every year because I would always rather be with my sister, who is a fuck-ton of fun and laughs when she isn’t busy being snarly toward me. I swear, gurl is the funniest bitch on the planet, and can run circles around all those arts-n-crafts Pinterest moms. Think you are awesome? You’re not. My sister has you beat, asshole. Sad and embarrassing fact: My sister writes way better than I do, too. Bitch.

When my sister told me to come to Mom’s for the Oscars Party…

… yep. I’m a pussy. I totally came running. Because I wanted nothing more than to laugh at the stupid dresses with her, to make eyes at each other every time our cray-cray mother said something ridiculous, to wrinkle our noses in unison at the inappropriate things the hosts ask on the Red Carpet, to get sad and nostalgic and lean on each other during the Memoriam. And she was great. The Oscars Party was great. The Academy Awards were great. The whole night would have been great…

… If not for the fucking Republican in the room.

Jesus Christ, Mother. Just… Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamn popsicle stick. Allow me to list off all the times I had to cringe because of what happened on stage. Things that I actually might have enjoyed, but wasn’t allowed to enjoy, because I was sitting on the floor of my Republican mother’s living room.

Seth MacFarlane performed the hysterical song “I Saw Your Boobs” which everyone but my mother and feminists across the world enjoyed immensely. Because that shit was funny. Let me be clear: There is never a time when singing about boobs ISN’T funny. Before my mom became boring, she would have cracked up over this song, too.

Oh. And for everyone offended about women’s boobs being the subject of a song, a rebuttal, to ease your pretty little mind.

The Gay Men’s Chorus of Los Angeles chimed in at the end of “I Saw Your Boobs” but I couldn’t hear their contribution because my mom was apoplectic that the word “gay” was said on her TV in her living room. Homo-Homo-Homosexual, Mother. Take that.

Barbara Streisand performed her classic song “The Way We Were”. I’ve been told she sang it really well. I couldn’t possibly know without checking the highlights, because my mom growled the entire way through about Babs and her shitty ways. Only she didn’t say the word “shitty” because good Christians don’t curse, of course. I will say this: Barbara looked fabulous. I wish I looked half that good.

Jane Fonda came on stage. I couldn’t even tell you what she came on stage for. I honestly don’t know. My mom was hissing and spitting and pulling out her own scales by that point.

Let me interrupt myself here and say this: I grew up understanding that I should hate Jane Fonda, but not knowing why. Becoming a Liberal made me realize I had a lot of history to question, such as Reagan being a hero or the Dallas Cowboys being the best football team ever, and a lot of history to un-learn. I think Jane Fonda is one of those. I just now had to look her up, because I am sick of not knowing if she is someone I’m supposed to be “mad” at or not. Turns out she’s anti-war. And fights for women’s rights. And isn’t afraid to go the extra mile for what she believes. I have to learn more about her to say this definitively, but from what little I read, I am coming to respect her. And it breaks my heart that my mother despises someone who represents my own personal aims.

First Lady Michelle Obama presented the final award, for Best Feature Film, live from the White House. I about shat myself, because that is history right there. I sat quietly through all the rest of the howling, but when Mrs. Obama hit the screen, I forgot myself, and screeched to the entire room, “Quiet! I’m trying to hear this!” I don’t know WTF I was thinking.

First, you don’t be bossy in that crowd.

Second, you don’t try to actively listen to anything a Democrat says in that crowd.

Third, you don’t be bossy in that crowd.

I was so intent on trying to hear what Mrs. Obama was saying, I couldn’t hear what Mrs. Obama was saying. If that makes sense? Which is dumb of me. I should have just let the whole thing go, sat quietly, and emailed a note to myself to look all that shit up in the privacy of my own home where I could blare it to my heart’s content, should I so wish.

See? I told you I was an asshole.

The best of the ceremony was my hubz. He sat across the room from me, texting me funnies throughout the nightmare. My favorite was this: “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”… because saying “oh my god” over and over again is funny.

So what did you think of the Oscars? My hubz and I walked away thinking, “Best. Academy Awards. EVAH!” But the rest of America seems to be enjoying getting the hate on for it. As usual, I missed the memo. Like when everyone decided — one two three *GO* — to hate Nickelback or to love pointy toed shoes. You a-holes really need to fire your communications team.

Comments

I didn’t have to watch the Oscars, because you watched them for me. Seriously, though, Andi and this is just me and no one else. I think the whole Oscars-SAG are irrelevant, and have been for years. There are so many other fine acting guilds and yada-yada. It’s like boycotting the Grammys or something for me, yet I was a member of a group that has won hands down, The Motor City Music Award for years over the Detroit Symphony, so go figure that one out. A lot of it is political, yada-yada.

Speaking of politics, boo-hiss about your Mom AND your sister (Sorry, I sense sibling blackmail from her and no one puts Andi in the corner.)